


I Want You To Want Me

by bluerobot



Category: Seven Psychopaths (2012)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Hints at suicidal thoughts, M/M, there will be eventual smut, will update tags as I go along
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 14:43:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3329909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluerobot/pseuds/bluerobot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kaya's thrown Marty out and now Billy is sick of hearing about her shit. Why can't Marty realise how much he needs him? Perhaps Billy can convince him somehow...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There are no lights on in his apartment, because Billy has remained seated at his desk since long before the sun went down. His journal still lies open in front of him, illuminated now only by the street light from outside. As he chews idly on the end of a pen, Billy is preoccupied with troubling thoughts that he is desperate to ignore. He stares vacantly into space for a while before his eyes refocus, looking out the window to admire a charred American flag that flutters gently in the Californian night air. He smiles weakly to himself in spite of his internal turmoil, and wills himself to stop thinking, just stop thinking about everything.

And especially, _especially_ , about Marty.

Lately, he’d been unable to think of anything else. And with zero jobs and no auditions on the horizon, Billy had far too much time on his hands to over-think anything and everything. His bad feelings festered, and they were becoming increasingly more anxious and paranoid by the day.

Billy sighs, exasperated, and puts pen to paper.

 _Kaya is the girl Marty loves,_ he scribbles.  _Billy, you gotta accept that. It’d make Marty happy if you made an effort to show up and be nice tonight. You know that._

Billy wanted to be a better friend, he really did.

_You need to stop being so judgemental of her. And you need to be a better friend. And what did you do to help Marty, today? Nothing. That’s what. Some friend you are._

Billy twirls the pen between his fingers, examines the gnawed end, and quietly thinks to himself, _no wonder he prefers to spend time with her._ He grinds his teeth as he ponders for a while before scrawling more onto the page.

 _You could help him write his screen play. But you know, you should wait for him to ask or something. If he wants your help, he’ll ask._ Billy pauses.  _Just...don’t push it._

An unwelcome image creeps into the forefront of his consciousness without warning. An image he’s seen before and tried to push out of his mind, an image that makes him feel sick way down deep in his chest.

Of Marty and Kaya. The two of them together. Marty kissing her, smiling at her. Running his hand through her hair...

Billy drops the pen and rests his head in his hands. He feels like he could puke, like the feelings brewing inside him are about to take on a physical form, and just spew straight up from his gut. There are all of these feelings stirring around inside his head and his body, with increasing frequency. And Billy doesn't understand what the fuck is going on or why he can't control the way he feels.

He swallows, feeling a huge lump in his throat. His eyes drift over to the clock on the wall.

_Oh shit, is that the time? Kaya's party…_

 

* * *

 

A shower and a shave later and Billy converses with his own reflection, trying to talk some confidence into himself. He twists a blue striped tie around his fingers. The busy LA skyline twinkles and buzzes, a stark contrast to the quietness in Billy’s living room, but not to the commotion inside Billy's head.

In his mind's eye, Marty kisses Kaya and tells her that he loves her.

Billy’s chest tightens and his hands shake as he wrestles with his tie, his brain unable to focus on the task at hand.

The Marty in his head whispers ‘Baby’s and ‘Honey’s and other sweet nothings into Kaya's ear.

Billy breathes in deep.

'You’re gonna have a nice time tonight, Billy. Relax!' Billy tells himself that everything will be okay. 'He’s your best friend ain't he?” His voice cracks as he tries to convince himself over and over that everything will be just fine.

_Be a better friend. Don’t be so judgemental._

'Kaya ain't so bad. It ain't her fault she's a fucking bitch.'

Billy apparently can't fucking remember how to tie a goddamned tie, or at least, as his attention is straying, his clammy hands won’t let him. He discards it impatiently, gives up on it altogether.

'Must be hard coming all the way here from Australia. Or New Zealand. Or wherever the fuck she came from.'

_Wish she’d go back there and leave Marty in peace, maybe then he could stay focussed._

* * *

 

Billy stands there, uncomfortably, with his hands in his pockets, surrounded by LAs greatest wannabes and examples of some of the finest cosmetic dentistry that money could buy.

He has zoned out, withdrawn mentally from this party almost entirely. He’d attempted to introduce himself to one new person, a pretty lady, a bronzed brunette, the kind he’d usually go for, but he had been so preoccupied with those... feelings. She was unimpressed due to his apparent mental absence, interpreting it as disinterest and rudeness. Billy had given up on socialising with anyone new after that exchange.

He fidgets, not listening to a word of Marty’s story. Unable to concentrate on anything outside of what was going on inside his own head. His efforts focused on trying to shut off his brain. Wanting the thoughts to stop. He just wants to stop thinking. About how much he hates her. Hates life. About death. About how much he hates the way she looks at Marty with disdain. How she rolls her eyes.

_You don't appreciate that he's the fucking best writer of his generation, do you? He’s gonna write a screenplay. A screenplay that I could be the fucking star of. Well, he won’t know that, but... You. You’re a distraction. A big fucking distraction._

Billy glances around the room. Everything is so unnecessarily stylish. He wrinkles his nose at all the stupid fucking decorative lamps, the assortment of Asian ornaments and useless vases, all the shit that Kaya has collected on various yoga retreats.

'Curated’ she had corrected Billy a few months back. ‘It’s art, Billy,’ she had said.

_Pfft. Yeah, whatever... No, wait… Billy, stop being so judgmental, remember?_

Billy’s eyes continue to roam the room before settling on Marty’s long fingers as they grasp his glass of bourbon. Fingers that write masterpieces, awesome screenplays. Fingers that would feel amazing against...

_No, stop._

Billy loves the way his voice deepens and becomes hushed when he tells dramatic parts of his story. Loves watching the party goers, captivated as they hang on his every word.

_Stop._

But then here comes another wave of unpleasantness. Billy feels the unmistakable nausea of anxiety and his hands twist and make fists in his pockets as his mind suddenly flashes back to earlier this evening. Standing in front of that fucking mirror, wrestling with that fucking tie, wrestling with himself, and getting all fucking watery-eyed like a fucking dickhead from thinking about all sorts of shit.

And those thoughts of Marty kissing her are back again, him smiling at her, but she's got a bitchy fucking attitude and never smiles back.

 _No, no, this is the girl Marty loves..._ Billy thinks about his journal.  _You gotta be a better friend, Billy._

His rambling mind slowly starts to tune back in, and Marty is telling some story about a guy slitting his throat and...

_Wait...I’ve heard this bef- what?_

'What’s up Bickle, don’t you get it?' Marty's attention is drawn to Billy when his reaction doesn't conform to the nods of approval and gasps of awe from the other spectators.

_He probably thinks you weren’t listening, Bill. That’s rich coming from him. He never listens to you. And he never remembers even when you are listening._

‘Oh, I get it, Marty’ Billy says as he tries to bite his tongue. _This Quaker thing is just another story that I’ve told you about that you’ve forgotten._

'You don't look like you get it. Maybe it ain't clear enough. Maybe I should have had you write it with me.'

_You motherf- you always forget stuff don’t you, Marty? Like... like the time I told you I loved you... and... and you said it back. But you didn't mean it. Not the way I did. Not the way I mean it._

_'_ 'Maybe you just drink too much, Marty?’ Billy tries to laugh it off. Makes it sound like a joke.

 _It just slipped out_ , Billy tells himself it was on accident but he’s not so sure how true that is.

‘What did you just say?’ Marty asks, his voice high pitched with disbelief.

_Come on, Billy. So what if he forgets? Most of the stuff you say isn't even interesting in the first place, anyway._

Marty gives some kind of stupid retort about Billy kidnapping dogs, when Kaya interjects. And Marty tells her to stop.

'Yeah, don’t you fucking start!' Billy jumps in. _He may be digging at me, but at least I know what's good for him._

'Don't talk to her like that!'

_What? I’m on your side?? Why do you... why do you always defend her like that?_

Marty saunters off in a tantrum. And Billy is left wondering what the fuck to do next. So he talks to _her_. Because if Marty’s gonna be a dick right now, and never listen to him, then _she_ needs to be the one to make sure that he doesn't make this Quaker mistake.

'Kaya, that Quaker story? I told Marty that story in a bar 2 months ago. A friend of mine told me, so there might be copyright issues at the very least.'

She doesn't say anything. And she looks like she's might cry about Marty making a scene on her birthday, of all days.

_Goddamnit she's ugly when she looks like that. No, Billy, come on, have some respect or.. or something?_

'I’m gonna go, okay?'

_Probably for the best. Say something nice, say something nice!_

'Thanks for... It was a nice party, you look nice.'

Billy heads for the door, catching a glimpse of Marty putting away his umpteenth drink of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After that other fic I wrote I can't stop with angsty Billy, sorry!  
> In the original script (you can google) Billy writes in his journal about how he thinks about death, and also about how he needs to be less judgemental of Kaya. And the line where he says 'what did you do to help Marty today? nothing' is from that original script.
> 
> This fandom is tiny, but I loves me some feedback, so please comment :)
> 
> Chapter 2 is coming, in which a drunk Marty is gonna be kicked out the party and will need a place to stay... and it won't contain shit tons of lifted movie dialog. in fact, it won't contain any!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marty's made a scene at Kaya's Birthday Party, and now he needs a place to stay.

Billy yawns noisily. The combination of sleepiness, booze and an old samurai movie on TV have offered his mind a rare moment of peace, a distraction from the busy thoughts. He’s been sprawled on the couch since he returned from the party just over an hour ago, only moving to grab a half empty carton of old ramen from the fridge. He eats it sloppily, using the splintered, disposable chopsticks poorly to shovel food to his mouth. He laughs at some poorly translated subtitles, when he sees his cell flashing on the coffee table. He reaches for it and scowls at it puzzled. It’s Marty.

_Look who finally came around._

‘Hey, buddy,’ he answers, holding the cell to his ear with his shoulder, and wraps more noodles around his chopsticks.

Marty doesn't seem to have realized he’s called him, or at least, if he has, he has yet to realize that Billy has picked up the phone. On the other end of the line, Billy hears shouting, mostly from the mouth of a, seemingly, very wasted and enraged Marty.

‘Mart?’

Not hearing Billy, Marty continues to yell at his present company.

‘Don’t you fucki- Shurrup!’

‘Martyyyy,’ Billy sings, ‘Marty? You there, man? Hello?’ In the distance Billy here’s the stern voice of Kaya.

‘Get out, Martin,’ she growls, in amongst his cussing slurs.

Suddenly, Marty remembers that he has dialed his friend.

‘Billy? FUCK. Billy, you there?’

‘What’s going on, Mart?’ Billy chirps brightly through a mouth full of ramen, slurping up a too-long noodle that hangs from his mouth to the pot. The sunny tone of his voice in no way hides how pleased he is that the two love birds are fighting again.

‘Oh, nothing,’ Marty starts, ‘Just my girlfriend being a FUCKING BITCH!’ he screams.

‘Fuck. You.’ Kaya hisses under her breath, obviously trying not to make a scene. ‘Get out, Martin!'

'You-'

'I said get the fuck out. Now.’

There’s grunts and groans as clearly Marty is resisting being thrown out of the house. The babble of the party still continues in the background. Billy rolls his eyes and fiddles with his chopsticks, waiting for Marty to bring his attention back to the phone call.

‘Let go of the doorframe, Martin.’

‘Kaya!’

Finally, Billy hears the door slam.

‘Whatever, fuck you, you fucking BITCH.’

‘Marty, I’m still here, you know, hello?’

‘Billy! Oh, Billy. Man, sorry, look, I need a place t-' Marty hiccups, breathing heavily, almost panting, from the struggle. 'I need to stay at your place.’

Billy’s ears prick up and he sits up straight, dumping the chopsticks in the ramen pot and taking the phone in his free hand. He hears an irate Marty tugging on the handle of his car door.

‘I’m coming now. I just...’ On the far side of Silver Lake, Marty leans against the roof of his car, and sets the cell phone down in order to pat down his pockets in search of keys.

‘Marty, you can't fuckin’ drive, you alcoholic bastard!’ Billy laughs at the intoxicated stupidity of his best friend, spitting ramen everywhere.

Not hearing him, Marty clenches his fists and shakes them at the sky as he realizes the keys are inside his house.

‘FUCK!!!’ Marty storms back up to the front door, banging his fists against it, ‘KAYA!’ he thumps harder and faster, ‘Kaya! Lemme in! I need the keys to the Buick!’

Billy sniggers uncontrollably.

_I knew it. I knew that fucking bitch would let him keep drinking all night. Let him keep pounding drink after drink, one after another, until he gets like this. She’s an enabler, that’s what she is._

Marty pounds the door with his fist one last time before slumping against it, defeated.

‘Billy's right, you are a cunt.’

Billy doubles over laughing, nearly throwing takeaway all over the couch. He laughs harder than he has in a long time. Marty grabs the phone off the roof of the car.

‘I’m coming over, Billy!’ he slurs.

‘Mart, look, don’t be fuckin’ stupid. It’s like a 40 minute walk from where you are. For a _sober_ person. You’ll never fuckin’ make it!’

‘Whatever, Bickle, I’m fucking walking.’

Billy sets the stale takeaway on the table and looks around for his car keys. Who knows what sort of fucking trouble a bitter Irishman will get himself into if he’s wandering the streets of LA at night in a booze-fueled rage. Billy shakes his head.

‘Nah. Marty, look, I’ll come get you just…. just sta-’

‘I SAID I’ll fuckin’ WALK.’

Marty hangs up. Billy exhales sharply and stares at the cell in his hand.

 _She would fucking throw him out, wouldn’t she._ He stands and pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, before snatching the car keys off his desk.

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t take Billy long to find Marty, his slow and drunken stagger means Marty hasn’t managed to creep far from his own home.

As Billy rolls up and catches him in the beam of his headlights, Marty is pissing on a streetlamp. Billy smirks and shakes his head. Marty had never really been a sloppy drunk. The guy always looked good - well groomed - sharp dresser most of the time. But, hell, even Billy would admit that he looks like total fuckin’ shit right now. He leans out the window as he approaches the lush.

‘Hey, stranger!’ He smiles, before bringing the car to a halt and jumping out.

Marty glances over his shoulder as he finishes up.

‘So what was it like?’ Billy bounces up towards Marty like an excited child and puts on a terrible fake Australian accent, swinging his arms, 'Ey, Martin arm so fackin maaad all the time for nar reason icksept arm a towtal CANT' Billy chuckles, highly amused by himself, and waits for Marty to crack a smile.

Marty scowls instead, and swings around to face him, clinging to the street lamp for support.

‘Don’t you fucking even..!’ Marty slurs, raising a drunkenly heavy arm with a shaky pointed finger at Billy.

Seeing he’s about ready to fall and split his chin open on the curb, Billy hooks his arm under Marty’s to hold him up.

‘Jesus, man, you’re a fuckin’ mess!’ he laughs in disbelief. ‘Come on get in the car.’

 

* * *

 

Billy pulls up in the driveway and yanks the parking break up, looking over to his best friend.

_Jesus, he’s been in the car for all of 5 fuckin’ minutes and he’s already fuckin’ passed out._

Marty was slumped against the window, snoring softly, drool running down his chin. Billy ran a hand down his own face.

‘Ah, Marty’ he sighs. ‘Look what she’s done to you' he breathes. _Just...look at him._

Billy reaches out to push Marty’s hair out his face, but falters at the last second. Instead, he brings his lips up to Marty’s ear and yells ‘Wake up, sunshine!’

‘Wh-what?’ Marty stammers, smacking his head on the window as he jolts awake, ‘Ow!’

Billy pulls the keys from the ignition and walks around to throw open the passenger door, causing Marty to nearly fall straight out and hit the sidewalk. He grabs at the door frame, hoping that it will stop his head from spinning, and rests his head against his arm, squinting at the light from the street lamps. He starts blinking deliberately, a lot, in the hope that if he continues to do it, maybe the blurry image of Billy will start to become a bit clearer.

‘Come on, you alcoholic fuckin’ mess, let’s get you inside.’

Marty's eyes suddenly rolled back in his head and he convulsed, suddenly throwing up all down the front of Billy.

Billy just stands there, silent and incredulous. He rests his elbow on the car door and rubs at his forehead.

‘God DAMN it, Marty,’ he mutters.

Marty looks up through his eyelashes at Billy, helpless, puke around his mouth. Too drunk to even be embarrassed about this turn of events.

Billy stares at the pool of vomit. It's almost clear, all liquid, just all booze and no food. It smells like bourbon and stale beer and stomach acid.

_This is all her fault._

Still standing there, propped up on the car door, Billy blankly stares at his friend, who has apparently lost all self awareness and has no reaction to vomiting all over him. Marty looks pathetic, and Billy’s expression softens.

‘It’s alright, though, Marty, ‘cause your best buddy Billy knows how to take care of ya.’

He smiles and bends down to help Marty up.

 

* * *

 

After propping Marty upright on the couch and fetching him a glass of water, Billy had rushed to the bathroom to wash the puke out of his clothes. As he stands in his y-fronts scrubbing in the sink at his shirt with a toothbrush, he talks to his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

‘My favorite fuckin’ shirt!’ He glances at his jeans, in a heap on the bathroom counter, ‘And my pants, too? Jesus, Martin, you got issues.’

Billy wrings out his shirt and hangs it over the shower curtain rail.

‘I bet Kaya doesn’t have to do this.' He spits, grabbing his jeans and running them under the tap, 'She fuckin’ throws you out on the street before she has to deal with you, doesn’t she? What a cunt.’

He begins to work at the crotch with the toothbrush, but sighs, feeling that his efforts are futile, and he's beginning to feel sick himself just from the smell of Marty’s vomit. He gives up, tossing the brush aside.

‘She doesn’t wanna look after you. She doesn’t wanna help you stop drinking.’

Billy strips his underpants off and reaches for his long johns, wriggling his hips as he tugs them on. He shoves a hand down the front of them to quickly re-adjust himself.

Billy acknowledges his reflection, and pats his stomach. He was still in good shape, but it was getting harder to keep the weight off these days, lying around all the time, no work, no hobbies, eating take out in favor of cooking for one. Being the wrong side of 40 didn’t help either.

‘It’s all gonna be okay, Mart. Ol’ Bill here will look after ya. I know what you need.’

Billy pulls faces in the mirror as he examines his wrinkles, and sighs, grabbing his dressing gown and slipping it on.

‘You’re just havin' a bad time, is all. You just need to get better, and get back to what you do best. Writing.’

He fastens the gown around his waist.

‘Billy will take care of ya.’


End file.
